


You Owe Me

by AGR



Category: jacksepticeye, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-07-15 23:04:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7242433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AGR/pseuds/AGR
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Wilford Warfstache runs into a little trouble while trying to kill his newest victim, Daniel Avidan, a mysterious and malicious force known only as "Antisepticeye" comes to the rescue. But Anti doesn't do favors for free, and he likes what he saw at the Game Grumps studio that night. Now, Wilford is in Anti's debt, and he plans to make him his new partner in crime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hey everyone! this is my first fic in a long while, so i hope you enjoy it!

The dagger was slowly drawn out of the man’s chest. A gargled cough escaped his throat as blood sputtered out from his lips. 

Wilford Warfstache stood over his victim, wiping the small dagger off with a red satin cloth. A slow smile spread across his lips as he looked over the body on the floor. Daniel Avidan lay sprawled out on the tile of the Game Grumps break room - the pool of blood beneath him growing in size. Wilford’s eyes returned to the dagger and inspected it to make sure all of Daniel’s blood was removed from the blade before he tucked it into the waistband of his khakis.

“Ya’ know he isn’t dead yet, right?” a voice sounded from the shadows behind him.

Warfstache spun on his heels - the expression on his face a mixture of surprise and confusion. He knew the building was empty, except for Daniel, before he had entered. Who could possibly be here? How did they get in? But most importantly, what had they seen?

A figure stepped out from the darkened corner. The light revealed a young man who was a bit shorter than Wilford and with a smaller frame, the top of his hair was dyed green - a stark opposition to the bubblegum pink that adorned the crown of the reporter’s own head. His eyes glowed a neon blue through the dimly lit room, the sclera of his right eye a bright neon green. 

Wilford pursed his lips and squinted behind the lenses of his glasses. “Aaaaand you aaare?” 

The man shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.” He took a few steps closer to Wilford and Daniel. His voice was higher than the reporter would have expected, and an Irish accent coated his words. “Looks like we had the same idea.” Wilford stared at the man, raising his eyebrow in question. “I woulda finished him off, though.”

“You know,” Wilford started, standing a bit straighter to show off the inch or two he had on the other man, “there is an art to a slow death.” He looked down at Daniel, who had grown still and pale - his breathing shallow. 

The other man rolled his eyes. “There’s also an art ta’ not bein’ caught.”

As if on cue, the door to the break room opened and the lights flicked on. The men turned to see Arin at the door, the sound of the rest of the Game Grumps following close behind him. He looked into the room and his laugh stopped abruptly - his skin growing pale. “DAN!!” As the rest of the crew gathered in the doorway, Arin grabbed a model sword from a bookshelf near the door. He charged the men - a feral look on his face and tears welling in his eyes. 

The Irishman rolled his eyes once again. He held his hand out before him and a green smoke emitted from his palm. Arin stopped short when he reached the gas. He began coughing and quickly retreated to the doorway. The Irishman turned to make his escape when Warfstache began coughing at his side, covering his mouth and nose with the bloodstained cloth he held. With another eye roll, he grabbed the reporter’s wrist and jogged him out the back door.

***

At a park a few blocks away, the man finally stopped and released Wilford from his grasp. He stood, his breath hardly labored, and looked around them through the shadows of the overhanging trees. “I think we’re fine.”

Warfstache was nearly doubled over, coughing into the red cloth. Not only was he trying to catch his breath from the run itself, but he was unable to breathe properly due to the gas. After a minute, he straightened up and folded the cloth away in his pocket. His face was spotted with Daniel’s blood, and he licked the droplets from his lips. He looked the man up and down again, watching him as he played with the gauge in his earlobe. Wilford squinted and pushed his glasses back up his nose. “Who are you?”

The man scoffed as he turned his attention back to Wilford. “Really? No ‘thank you’? Maybe I shoulda jus’ left ya’ there.”

Wilford sighed, his patience being tested as his inquisitive nature got the best of him. “Sorry...Thank you...for helping me out of there.” The man simply nodded and return, beginning to play with his gauge again. “But why were you there? You said that we had the same idea?”

A sinister smile played across the man’s face as he turned his eyes back toward the reporter. Warfstache gulped under the intensity of his gaze. “Daniel Avidan is the purest symbol o’ light an’ hope an’ love this world has seen in a long time.” He let his eyes stray upwards to the splattering of stars he could see through the leaves. “I couldn’t let a being like that survive.” After a moment, his expression turned fierce and he faced Wilford again. “And you fooked up everythin’. What were YOU doin’ there?!” he demanded. Warfstache simply shrugged in return. “Wha-? Gaaah!” the man groaned as he threw his head back.

There was a moment of silence between them before Wilford spoke. “You aren’t human, are you?”

The man sighed, having calmed down a bit. “Why do you care?” he snapped.

Wilford gave another shrug. “I’m a reporter. I’m curious.”

The man ran his hand down his face, having lost all patience. “Listen,” he began, taking a few steps closer. “I’m not here to be interviewed, ‘Mr. Reporter.’ I came here to kill Daniel Avidan - which you had already tried an’ failed to do before I arrived. Now I gotchu outta there. Now you owe me.”

Wilford raised an eyebrow. “Eeeexcuse me?”

“You owe me,” the man smirked and poked Wilford in the chest.

“Now, hold on,” Warfstache protested. The smirk quickly disappeared from the other man’s face. “You saved me, I’ll grant you that. But I got Mr. Avidan out of the way for you. Isn’t that-”

“But you didn’t,” the man interjected.

Warfstache blinked in surprise for a moment before continuing. “Considering the state he was in when we left, I don’t think he’ll be any trouble for a while...”

“But he’s not dead. He didn’t die.” Warfstache opened his mouth to speak, but the other man cut him off. “Do you always leave your jobs undone?”

Wilford stared at him for a moment. “Weeell…” he shrugged, “I don’t really plan things out. They just sort of...occur.”

The man rolled his eyes, not believing what he heard. “You’re ridiculous - you’re insane!” Wilford nodded. He wasn’t going to deny it. “Gaaah!!” the man groaned again and ran his hands over his face. He sighed as he returned his gaze to Wilford. “Well. Insane or not, ya’ still owe me, Mr. Re-”

“Wilford.”

The man stopped and stared at him. “Wha?”

“My name is Wilford Warfstache.”

The man rolled his eyes with a groan. “Well. Not that I really care what your name is, Wilford Warfstache. You still owe me.”

Wilford sighed as he crossed his arms over his chest. He could tell from the man’s demeanor that there was no use arguing with him. He wasn’t going to get out of this, at least not tonight. “Fine.” He sighed. “I have one condition, though.”

The man looked at him in confusion. “Wha’ the fook? There are no conditions to this!”

“There are here.”

“I don’t think you know how this thing works.” Wilford shrugged again. He wouldn’t deny that either. The man sighed. “Alright. What? Wha’ could ya possibly want - on top of me savin’ yer life?”

Wilford looked the man over again before meeting his eyes. “What’s your name?”

The man looked at him in utter confusion again before he burst out laughing. “Wha??”

Wilford only stared at the man and waited for his answer.

After a few moments, the man calmed down. He shook his head, “I can’t tell ya’ that.”

Wilford looked perplexed. He thought it was a simple enough request. “Aaaand...why not?”

The man shrugged and averted Wilford’s gaze. “Don’ really have one.”

Wilford stared at the man for a moment. “Well…” he began. “You must be at least referred to as something? Yes?”

The man smirked, his eyes glowing as they returned to meet Wilford’s gaze. “Yeah.” That green smoke from earlier began to surround his form. Wilford took a step back. “Antisepticeye.” And with that, his entire body turned into poisonous fog and shot off through the wood, leaving Wilford alone in the darkness of the park.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anti visits Wilford in his studio to discuss his plan.

Wilford sat behind his desk shuffling through the stacks of paper scattered across it. He jot down a few notes on one page, highlighted a line on another. To an outsider - or, honestly, anyone else - the reporter’s desk was an absolute disaster when the camera was turned off. But that’s just how Wilford worked. His mind wasn’t too keen on staying on any one subject for long, so different notes of different stories were scattered about so when he got bored with the one he was reading, he could easily begin working on another.

As always, Wilford was engrossed in his work - head down and completely focused - when a voice sounded directly in front of him. “Warfstache.”

Wilford let out an ungodly screech and flipped his chair over backwards in his frenzy. He jumped back to his feet, dagger in hand, to find the man he met a few nights ago standing before his desk. Antisepticeye.

Anti looked Wilford up in down with a look of confusion and disgust. “Do you normally not wear pants while yer workin’?”

Wilford looked himself over. He was wearing his trademark button-down shirt, bowtie, and suspenders. But instead of his normal khakis, a pair of red boxer-briefs adorned his waist, with a matching lace garter on his right thigh. Wilford let out the breath that he’d been holding as he tucked his dagger back beneath the garter. “The camera only sees from the waist up,” he nodded to the cameras in the background before his eyes returned to the man before him. “I like to be comfortable while I work.”

Anti gave a shrug in return as he kicked the folding chair he held out in front of him. He opened it and sat down, crossing his legs and resting his elbow on the back of the chair as he returned his gaze to Warfstache. Wilford followed his lead and sat down in his own chair. “And to what do I owe this pleasure?”

A smirk tugged at the corner of Anti’s lips. “You owe me, remember?”

Wilford let out a sigh, slumping forward in his chair. “Riiiiiight…” After a few days, he was starting to think that this ‘Antisepticeye’ had forgotten about this favor and would leave him alone. Unfortunately for the reporter, Antisepticeye had a much better memory than he did. Especially when it came to people in his debt. “Soooo,” Wilford continued, “how may I be of service?”

“From wha’ I’ve seen so far, it looks like ya’ quite enjoy spilling blood.” Wilford nodded in return. If journalism was his profession, that would make murder something like a hobby, he supposed. “I have a job that I need yer help with.”

Wilford straightened in his seat, his curiosity peaked. “My help?” A smirk touched his lips. “I thought you said I was insane.”

Anti scoffed through a smile. “Ya’ are. Which is exactly why I need ya.”

Wilford cocked his head, his brow furrowing a bit though his smirk remained. “Alright, I’ll bite. What’s this ‘job’ that you need my help with?”

Anti raised his chin, looking down his nose at Wilford. “Daniel Avidan.”

Wilford’s smirk quickly disappeared - a look of confusion taking over. “Daniel?” he inquired. “I thought you would have finished him off days ago. Besides that, I was the one that disrupted your entire plan.” He leaned back in his chair. “Why would you want my help?”

Anti’s smirk widened. “I may have a few tricks up my sleeve, but none o’ them instill the primal rage and fear in humans tha’ a bloodbath does.” He relaxed back in his chair, keeping his eyes trained on the reporter. “You, however, seem ta’ have quite the knack fo’ ‘em.”

Wilford stayed silent for a moment - his mind in a thousand places. What other tricks did Antisepticeye have up his sleeve, besides his gas? Why did it matter so much that Daniel die? How did he know where he worked? Does he have a nickname? Because ‘Antisepticeye’ is way too long. His smirk is lopsided. Is it a Thai or Chinese take out kind of night?

After a moment, the reporter shook his head and returned to the present conversation. “Why do you want a bloodbath?”

Anti’s smile widened. “Ya’ showed me somethin’ when I ran inta ya’ the other day.” He paused, but Wilford stayed silent. “I’ve watched humans discover my…work in tha’ past. They’re scared, confused, sad...But never have I seen a human react with such raw emotion as when they see someone covered in blood.”

Warfstache stared at him, trying to reign in his thoughts. He squinted and pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “Where is this going, exactlyyy…?”

Antisepticeye’s smile widened again. He leaned forward, his eyes beginning to glow in the dim light of the studio. “You’re going ta’ slaughter the Game Grumps crew.”

Wilford bolted upright. “The Game Grumps crew?” Anti only nodded. “But that’s…” he quickly counted on his fingers, “...six people. If we’re not including those behind the scenes...”

“We’re not.”

Wilford’s gaze returned to his desk for a moment. He’s never taken on so many people at once. Not that he thought it would be too much trouble, but the idea was still intimidating. He looked back at the man sitting before him. “How exactly are you proposing we do this?”

“Daniel Avidan has just been released from the ICU. The entire crew is goin’ ta’ visit him tomorrow afternoon.” Wilford opened his mouth, but Anti answered his question before he could ask it. “Arin has been callin’ tha’ hospital every few hours. I’ve been listenin’ in.” 

Wilford decided not to ask how or why and simply nodded instead. “Sooo...you want me to go in and murder everyone while they’re visiting Daniel.”

“Close,” Anti began as he stood from his chair. He placed his hands on Wilford’s desk and leaned over him. “You kill the rest of the crew. Daniel is mine.”

Wilford swallowed hard, not daring to break eye contact. 

“But let me make one thing clear, Warfstache.” His smirk faded, and he glared intently at the reporter before him. “If you don’t follow my plan…” He leaned in closer, their noses nearly brushing. “...you’ll be dead too.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lots of murder in this chapter, ya'll - just a heads up

Wilford adjusted the white coat on his shoulders as he looked over himself in the mirror. With the coat, a blue button down, pink necktie, and gray slacks, he had to admit that he did look very doctory. He gave himself one final once over before he sighed, “This just seems too easy.”

Anti walked up and clipped a badge to the pocket of his coat. “As long as ya have the badge on, no one will look twice at ya.”

“I get the feeling you’ve done this before.” Anti smirked as he turned and walked away. Wilford grabbed the badge and looked it over. “I don’t look anything like this ‘Dr. Cheon,’ you know.”

Anti shrugged as he returned and held out a surgical cap and mask. “Yer Asian and ya wear glasses. These will take care o’ the rest.”

Wilford snatched up the garments. “Rude.” He began to put them on, nonetheless, as Anti stepped behind him in the mirror. “You really expect me to just waltz into a hospital?”

“Well I’d prefer it if ya’ walked. Wouldn’t draw as much attention ta yerself.” Wilford glared at him as he tied the mask into place. Anti smirked in return. “But yes. I do.” 

Wilford straightened up, now having his full disguise on. And, even he had to admit. With the bubblegum pink of his hair and most of his face covered, he barely recognized himself in this getup. And, though he hated to admit it, now that his eyes were all you could see, he did very much resemble Dr. Cheon.

\--

“Aww, guys, you didn’t have to do this,” Daniel Avidan smiled as he hugged the stuffed unicorn Suzy had handed him.

“Of course we did, ya knucklehead,” Arin retorted. “We woulda been here sooner, but they wouldn’t let anyone see you.”

“Arin was going to beat them with a plastic sword, but we thought that wasn’t the best idea,” Ross injected.

Dan looked around the room. His five co-workers and best friends had come to visit him the second they could. His smile widened and he hugged the unicorn - Mr. Stuffingtons - even tighter. “You guys are the best.”

“We know,” Arin smiled.

Barry plopped down in the armchair with a grunt. “Anyone else hungry?”

Brian checked his watch. “Yeah, it is almost 2 o’clock.”

“I can make a quick lunch run,” Arin suggested. “Can you eat anything besides gross hospital food yet, Dan?” 

Dan shrugged, “Fuck if I know.” The doctors had only told him to take it slow when it came to eating, but he didn’t really know what that meant. 

“I’ll run to the nurse’s station and see what they say,” he said, pointing over his shoulder towards the door. “Then, I’ll be back to take everyone’s order,” he said with a slight bow. He turned around and made his way to the door. “Whoa! Sorry, man.” He sidestepped his way around the doctor who stood in the doorway and started down the hall.

The doctor nodded as Arin apologized for nearly running into him. He looked over his shoulder and when Arin had turned the corner he entered the room and quietly shut the door behind him.

“Hey Dr. Cheon!” Dan greeted, sitting up a bit. Dr. Cheon smiled behind his mask and waved at the group. He stopped short, coughing hard into his elbow. “Whoa, you okay, doc?”

After a moment, Dr. Cheon cleared his throat and nodded. “Yeah.” His voice was much lower than before. “I woke up with a very sore throat this morning.” His sheepish smile showed in his eyes. “Hence this getup,” he commented, pointing to the mask he wore. “Sorry for the worry.”

“Aww, sorry doc. Hope you feel better,” Dan smiled as the doctor made his way to the monitoring equipment besides Daniel’s bed.

Dr. Cheon nodded as he grabbed the mouse from the desk. He clicked through a few screens of Daniel’s vitals. “You seem to be recovering just fine,” he smiled. “Now, we had a bit of a malfunction with the machines earlier today…”

“Oh, was that the beeping noise we heard an hour ago?” Suzy asked, taking a seat on the edge of Daniel’s bed.

Dr. Cheon nodded. “Nothing serious,” he said, looking over his shoulder at the group behind him, “but we need to do a quick shutdown and reboot to make sure everything is being recorded properly.” 

“Aww, I knew you didn’t care about me. You only care about your dumb machine,” Daniel pouted.

The doctor smiled as he powered down the machine. “Well, you got it half right.”

The Grumps looked at each other in confusion. “What?” Daniel half smiled.

Dr. Cheon pushed his hands into the pockets of his coat as he made his way to the bed. He smiled at Daniel for a moment before he nodded. “You’re right.” He pulled his mask down under his chin, revealing his pink mustache. “I don’t care about you.”

Suzy tried to scream, but Wilford sliced her throat with the dagger he had hidden in his pocket before she could make a sound. 

“Suzy!” Barry exclaimed and rushed to catch her limp body as she slid off of the bed.

Brian charged the intruder, his fist raised. “You wouldn’t hit a guy with glasses, would you?” Wilford asked, his expression smug. Brian’s fist collided with Wilford’s cheek and he stumbled back into the monitoring equipment he had just turned off. He straightened up, rubbing the soreness from his jaw. “Apparently you would…” His brown eyes now glinted under the fluorescent lights. He was a reporter. His career would be over if anyone damaged his face. 

Brian charged him again. But this time, Wilford ducked below his swing. He shoved his dagger deep into Brian’s abdomen. Brian slumped against him with a groan. “B-...Bastard…” he whispered with the last of his breath. Wilford stepped back, pulling out his dagger and letting Brian fall to the floor.

Wilford wiped the blood from his dagger off on the hem of his coat as his eyes met those of Barry and Ross. Barry knelt at the edge of Dan’s bed, cradling Suzy’s limp body in his arms. Ross stood at the back of the room - his hands balled into fists and shaking with a mixture of fear and hate. Out of the corner of his eye, Wilford caught a glimpse of Daniel. He was balled up in the corner of his bed, clinging to his stuffed toy, and nearly convulsing in fear. A smirk worked its way across Wilford’s face.

His eyes met those of Ross once again and he slowly began to move across the room. Ross took a step back for every step Wilford advanced, but he soon found his back against the wall. Ross’ eyes lit up in fear. But when he stopped, Wilford did as well - not wanting to ruin this little game. He tossed his dagger into the air and caught it in a reverse grip - his thumb gently stroking over the pommel of the handle. Without hesitation, he swung the dagger across his body - the blade piercing up to the guard in Barry’s neck. Barry froze and sputtered. And when Wilford pulled the dagger from his neck he fell on top of Suzy in heap.

Ross sputtered a murmur of surprise and terror. He looked from Wilford to the door and back again. He couldn’t win against him. What the reporter lacked in finesse and tact he made up for in strength and unpredictability. His movements were not calculated or planned. And Ross didn’t stand a chance. He needed to get help. His eyes landed on Daniel, who was shaking in fear. He was absolutely traumatized. They had all seen it. This was the man who had stabbed him just a few nights ago. This is the man that had nearly killed Dan. And now he was back to finish the job.

Ross darted toward the door, hoping to catch Wilford off guard. He heard his heavy footsteps behind him as he neared the room’s only exit. He snatched the handle and flung the door open. His heart raced at the idea of his success - of his escape. But the relief was short-lived.

Wilford grabbed Ross by the collar and pulled him back into the room. Ross cried out, but it was cut short as Wilford’s blade sliced his windpipe. Ross coughed. Sputtered. And Wilford let him fall to the ground as he went limp.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the bloodbath continues and Wilford is surprised by a choice of Anti's

Wilford watched as Ross dropped to the tiled floor of the hospital room in a heap at his feet. He looked over his crumpled human form for a moment before he reached over him and swung the door shut once more. Leaning back, he began to clean the blood from his dagger as he turned back towards the center of the room, quietly humming to himself. He made his way around Brian’s body to see that the monitoring equipment was beginning to reboot. He reached behind it and pulled the plug, powering it down.

“M-Monster…!”

Wilford looked up to see Daniel meeting his gaze. He was balled up in the corner of his bed, hiding behind blankets and the stuffed unicorn he was squeezing so tightly, Wilford was surprised that the stitching hasn’t burst yet. Wilford raised the cord he held in his hand, a slightly confused look on his face, “I can’t have anyone running in due to your heart rate…”

Dan’s face turned with a slight of confusion. “Wha-? N-No! Not that!” He vaguely gestured to the rest of the room. “Th-That!”

“Oh!” Wilford exclaimed, dropping the cord along with his confusion. He looked around the room, a soft smile painted across his lips as he admired his own handiwork. “It is an artform, you know. As a musician, I think you would be able to understand that.” He paused for a moment, turning in place. “How the blood splatters and pools, the way the body falls - even the way in which it is done.” He turned back to Daniel as he began backing against the wall that the door was built into. “It all plays into the final masterpiece.”

The doorknob turned. 

“So good news and bad news,” Arin started as he opened the door. “You’re not stuck eating gross hospital food, but-” He opened the door wide enough to see the horror before him. His eyes immediately locked on Suzy’s body lying limp on the floor. His eyes began to well up with tears as his face contorted in anger and sorrow. He bolted into the room.

“Arin, NO!” Dan squealed.

Too late.

Arin jerked to a halt as a hand grabbed his hair and held him in place. “SUZY!!” he cried.

Warfstache tightened the grip he had on Arin’s hair and thrust him closer to Daniel’s bedside. The reporter held the dagger up to Arin’s throat. He could feel the man swallow hard beneath the blade. “Any last words for your dear friend?”

As Daniel opened his mouth to speak, Arin kicked up his heel in the hope of catching the man who held him in the groin. But he never got that far. As soon as Wilford felt Arin’s weight shift, he slid the blade deeply beneath his skin and dragged it across his throat.

Wilford held Arin there. Bleeding out over the bed, all in perfect display for Dan - who, though terrified, could not look away. 

When Arin finally went too limp to hold, Wilford opened his fist and let Arin slump to the floor before him. 

Wilford’s eyes met Daniel’s. Daniel whimpered and hid his face behind the stuffed unicorn he held. Wilford smirked as he took a step back and began cleaning the blood from his blade once again. “Oh, don’t you worry. I have explicit instruction not to harm you, Mr. Avidan.”

“Tha’s right.”

The door of the hospital room closed.

A man with green hair and glowing blue eyes walked toward the center of the room. “Yer mine,” he said with a devilish grin.

Warfstache gave a gentle bow and took a few steps back, tucking the dagger in the pocket of his lab coat as Antisepticeye lept across the room like a feral animal and landed over Daniel on the hospital bed. 

Daniel watched him, eyes wide and paralyzed with fear, as the man’s jaw began to unhinge. A green liquid began to ooze from his lips, that was burning even his skin. His jaw opened wider, the substance burning its way through the flesh of his cheeks, giving him a jack-o-lantern-esque grin as he crawled over Daniel. Droplets of the substance fell from his mouth and burned holes in the blankets and stuffed toy. A drop landed on Daniel’s arm, and he howled in pain.

The man grabbed Daniel by the mouth, cutting off his cry. He held him there for a moment, staring deep into his brown eyes, as his jaw began to work its way back into place - the green substance receding back into his body and his flesh beginning to heal. He smirked at Daniel. And with a sigh, let go of him and crawled off of the bed. “Let’s go.”

Wilford - who had been watching the ordeal play out in equal parts horror and fascination - shook his head and looked at the other man in shock. “What?! You’re not going to-”

He shook his head, “Not today.”

Wilford looked at the bloodbath surrounding them, feeling as if his efforts were a waste. But, even only knowing Anti for a short time, he felt it was best not to argue with him. He sighed with a shrug and waited for instruction.

Anti leaned down to the pool of blood that surrounded Brian. He scooped some up and painted the front of his shirt with it. He let it drip and pool, so it looked similar to the bloodstain on Brian’s clothing from his fatal stab wound. Anti turned to Wilford and grabbed his hand, slinging the man’s arm around himself. “Help me outta here, doc.”

Wilford understood and pulled his mask up with a nod. The two rushed out of the room, Wilford half-carrying Anti as he clutched the fake hole in his chest and grimaced in pain. He was much lighter than Wilford thought he would be. Regardless, they made it out of the room just in time, for as they neared the end of the hallway, a nurse was quickly making her way to Daniel’s room to check on him. As Wilford and Anti rounded the corner, they heard her scream.

A fakely-pained smirk twisted Anti’s lips, and Wilford was grinning behind his mask. “Told ya,” Anti said, as they made their way through the halls and out of the building.


End file.
